


Wisconsin

by iconicklaine



Series: Someone Like You [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconicklaine/pseuds/iconicklaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine has a plan: Invite Kurt to his grandparents' lake house in Wisconsin, confess his undying love, and put an end to their crazy sexual tension once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisconsin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flashback fic for "Someone Like You" which is the first story in this series. You do NOT have to read SLY to read "Wisconsin." Though if you haven't read SLY, you should know that in this verse, Kurt and Blaine are both juniors when they meet, the events after "Sexy" never happened, and Kurt stayed at Dalton.
> 
> Also, regarding the title: 
> 
> The simple title is a nod to SLY readers, who requested flashback fics of the main story, and referred to the events in this story simply as "Wisconsin." Also, in the main story, the word "Wisconsin" is weighted for both Kurt and Blaine—one word takes them back to this story.
> 
> Also, if you go to the SLY scrapbook tag on my Tumblr you'll find pics of some of the places featured in this story.
> 
> Thank you to Mimsy for proofreading and coding and awesomeness.

Chapter One

Right up until they're past Fort Wayne, Indiana, Blaine is positive Burt is going to call the whole thing off and demand they turn around and come back to Lima. He wasn't exactly thrilled to hear that it would be just the two of them; just Kurt and Blaine, road tripping twelve hours to his grandparent's place outside of Rice Lake, Wisconsin.

"Blaine is my _best friend,_ Dad, and we're both going off to _different colleges_ in just _two months,_ and we worked _so hard_ this year, Dad, come on—" Kurt begged. 

Burt wouldn't budge, claiming they were "too young" and "Blaine's car needs a tune-up" and "gas is too expensive" and "Chicago is _close_ to Wisconsin—don't you know good people die there, Kurt?"

But then Kurt had pulled the, "I'm an 18-year-old high school graduate, _Dad"_ bit and Blaine had given him the caretaker's phone number, and eventually, Burt relented.

Blaine is 100% sure that if Burt knew Blaine's _real_ intention in inviting Kurt up to the Wisconsin place, he would have banned Kurt from seeing Blaine for the rest of the summer, maybe forever. Because Blaine is going to tell Kurt how he feels, for real this time. He's going to do it. _He is._

Somehow, some way, Blaine is going to finally tell Kurt he's into him; that he's probably, sort of, almost, definitely in love with him.

He might leave out the part about how he thinks about him all the time, more than he should, really, more than anyone, especially Burt, would consider a normal amount of thinking about one person. He doesn't want to creep Kurt out. He just wants to tell him, just _tell him,_ and hopefully get a kiss out of the deal. Or more. Yes, he would definitely like there to be more.

It's the "more" part that would probably cause Burt Hummel to go ballistic, but he doesn't have to know.

They're an hour into Kurt's "Wisconsin Week!" playlist when they see the sign: Chicago 158 miles. It's the first time they notice a reference to Chicago on a mileage sign, and somehow it makes Blaine feel older, like he's really starting something, like life is not just some shimmering mirage of a future, but something he talks about in the present tense, something that _is._ He nudges Kurt, who looks up from the map on his iPad and smiles like he knows exactly what Blaine's thinking.

The sign also puts all fears about Burt to rest. Sure, he could summon them home at any time, but as long as they check-in every day, it's not likely.

"Are you sure you're okay just eating the sandwiches I packed?" Kurt asked.

"Of course. I'm still full from the breakfast smoothies you made, anyway."

"Okay. Good."

"Why?"

"Well, I know you _can_ buy lunch, and probably want to buy lunch, but it's just, you're already paying for the gas, and we're staying at your grandparents' place—"

"Kurt, stop. I love sandwiches. I love that you _made_ sandwiches. It's fine. It's more than fine, okay?"

Blaine pats Kurt on the knee and tries not to let his fingers linger longer than necessary. Kurt seems satisfied with his answer and goes back to his iPad. A few moments later he says, "We should stop for coffee, though. Could we stop in Madison? They have a coffee house that's a 'GLBT favorite' according to this blog. Michelangelo's."

"Sure. From Madison we have about another four hours, so even if we stop for a bit, we should be able to make it in time for dinner," Blaine says.

Kurt smiles, tucks his iPad away and leans back in his seat. "Is it rude if I close my eyes, just for a few minutes? Getting up at 5:00 a.m. is a stretch, even for me."

"Sure. Will it bother you if I listen to the radio?" Blaine asks.

"Not at all. But why the radio? I've got other playlists—"

"I know. I just like to listen to the radio on road trips. It's kind of a thing."

"Like a ritual? You do this every time you drive to Wisconsin?"

"Right. I try to find a decent radio station in a sea of classic rock and Christian talk radio. It's a challenge, believe me, though it gets easier after we hit Chicago."

Kurt twists in his seat so he can rest his head on the seat and still look at Blaine. 

"I admire your love of tradition, and challenge, though I do wonder if this is just a covert attempt to listen to Top 40."

"I promise I won't sing too loud," Blaine teases.

"Just as long as you sing."

Blaine looks over at Kurt to give him a smile, maybe even a wink, but Kurt's eyes are closed. Kurt is so damn beautiful he has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road. Fortunately, the challenge of finding something halfway decent to listen and sing to is enough to keep his mind off of Kurt and everything he hopes will happen this week. It works for about 20 minutes, and then Kurt sighs in his sleep, and oh-my-god-adorable, and Blaine is freaking out again.

 _I will do it. I_ will. _I'll just say it, and it will be fine, and even if he doesn't love me back, even if he's given up on that, at least I'll have told him. And maybe he does still want me like that. Maybe, like me, he stays up too late thinking about me, fantasizing about me, trying to get me out of his system so he can face me the next day and not blush from ear to ear, talk to me and not stutter over every other word, look at me and not stare far too long, touch me and not burst into tears. Maybe he loves me more than a friend. Maybe I'm his, and he's mine._ Maybe.

He's putting too much pressure on himself, he knows this, but he's running out of time. Soon enough they'll both be starting over in college, reinventing themselves the way people always do, finding new friends, getting rid of inhibitions, trying on new traits and preferences, having firsts. He _has_ to tell Kurt how he feels before all of that, because otherwise, he may never get the chance.

As the plains give way to urban sprawl, Blaine tries not to think about the possibility of rejection. All he can think about at this point is getting enough courage up to tell Kurt. He'll worry about the aftermath... after.

He's been trying to come up with a way to confess his feelings to Kurt ever since Mercedes' Anti-Prom Party... last year. He was watching Kurt, not in a creepy way, just in a normal "hey, that's my awesome best friend" way, when Kurt suddenly started laughing at something Rachel said and it hit him—

_Blaine Anderson, you are in love with Kurt Hummel._

He shook his head from side to side to clear it, but it didn't work. Then his entire body started tingling. His skin felt like one giant goose bump and a seriously embarrassing blush threatened to break through his skin and set his face on fire. And then the rest of the room went fuzzy as he zeroed in on Kurt's mouth, his eyes, the twist of his hips. Everything seemed to slow down, like he was suspended in water, and the ringing in his ears was so loud, it drowned out Thad's epically bad version of "Proud Mary." 

That night he stayed in his spot on Mercedes' couch, watching Kurt—the tilt of his head when trying to follow Brittany's train of thought; his strong, lean legs as he crossed them, perched on a stool; his smile, oh God, his smile; his deft, long fingers as they rearranged Rachel's outfit on the spot.

Everyone thought he was bombed out of his mind, unable to form words, or dance, or even sing with the rest of Kurt's friends. David and Jeff nudged him repeatedly. "What's is _up,_ dude? You're a freaking zombie over here."

Kurt, suspicious, kept an eye on him from a distance most of the night, content to hang out with his McKinley crew. But as people paired off and Mercedes started shepherding stragglers out the door, Kurt bounced over to Blaine and said, "Drinking is _not_ your thing, Blaine. You really need to just accept that fact of life right now so you can avoid untold number of embarrassing situations and horrific morning-after repercussions. Are we in agreement?"

Blaine nodded, transfixed by the tiny points of light on the rim of Kurt's eyes.

"Good. Because I can see your alcohol-soaked future, Blaine, and it isn't pretty."

Blaine nodded again and, like a love struck idiot said, "Okay, Kurt."

"Just one or two drinks per night, from now on until forever... or until you grow three inches and gain 20 pounds, okay?"

"Yes, Kurt."

The realization that he was in love with his best friend hit him hard, rendering him virtually useless for days afterward. He lied to everyone, pretended to be sick, and hunkered down in his room to consider his options. He could tell Kurt, ask him to be his boyfriend and get right down to figuring out what the hell boyfriends _do._ But what if Kurt didn't feel the same way? What if his Valentine's Day confession was fleeting, a schoolboy crush quickly replaced by thoughts of other boys, or... Taylor Fucking Lautner? What if Kurt's interest had just been misplaced gratitude?

Blaine waffled back and forth, coming up for air on the third day with a decision made: He would wait to tell him how he felt until he was absolutely sure Kurt returned his feelings. He would have to resort to some covert investigation, but Mercedes owed him a favor and Jeff seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with gossip and speculation, so he could probably get at some semblance of the truth in a couple of weeks, for sure by the end of the summer.

The trick was trying to find out if Kurt wanted him, without letting on that he was totally gone on Kurt.

Blaine never was very good at deception. And if he were honest, he really wasn't ready to know the answer. Just being in love with Kurt was a heady experience; being in love _together,_ with _each other,_ open and vulnerable, new and full of promise, well, he was a little nervous that it just might kill him. He was only 17, after all.

Life, _real_ life was coming up fast and he wanted to slow it all down, just for one or two hours, or _years._ If he found out that Kurt was in love with him, or just loved him like his "very best friend," either way, that was just a little too much reality for Blaine. 

So instead he floated through the days content in the knowledge that Kurt still spent all of his free time with him, didn't seem to be interested in anyone in particular, and still, from time to time, looked at Blaine like he was the best thing ever. Not that _not_ knowing if Kurt returned his feelings didn't hurt; it did. His love, his _frustration,_ was a delicious, wonderful agony.

Even though at times it was physically painful for him to live with the knowledge that he was in love with a perfect human being who spent the better part of his day not six feet from him; even though he had to develop an elaborate ritual of meditation, cold showers and more meditation in order to stop himself from eliminating that six feet of space and plastering himself to Kurt's body in hands-on confession; even though he had to remind himself to do basic things like eat, and sleep, and _breathe_ so he wouldn't pass out from want, Blaine still didn't tell him. Kurt was available and college was light years away; he could afford to take his time, to make sure they remained friends no matter what.

And then it happened. A little over a year after he realized his true feelings for Kurt, the future showed up and punched him in the face.

Despite all of his Senior year mooning, and daydreaming, and doodling both corny and obscene images in his old Western Civ textbook (where no one would EVER look), Blaine somehow managed to pass enough classes to graduate and make it into Berklee College of Music. Wes had narrowly beat out Kurt for class Valedictorian, which meant Kurt, as Salutatorian, gave the first speech.

Everyone, including Blaine, expected a carefully worded anti-conformist diatribe (which, okay, would have been _awesome)_ or an elegant ode to friendship among well-mannered soon-to-be gentlemen (also awesome), but when Kurt walked up to the podium, all shiny and perfect and _tall,_ he only said six sentences:

"The labels that we use to elevate ourselves, or isolate or segregate each other, are irrelevant. There are only two kinds of people in this world—those who believe we are interdependent, that even if we are an ocean apart with no awareness of one another, my actions impact your life and your choices affect mine; and those who believe that we are all independent of one another, free to behave as we wish with no thought of how our actions might affect others, secure in the belief that a stranger's pain, or pleasure, is not our own. Now is the time to decide—what kind of person are you?"

Kurt paused, let the audience sink into the weight of his words, and then closed with, "I hope we all show up for our lives, even when it scares the shit out of us. Hideous uniform pants aside, thanks for making me a Dalton man. It has been an honor."

From his front row spot with the other "A" names, Blaine heard David say, "Holy _fuck,"_ a few rows back, and then the entire audience was on its feet, cheering and applauding for his best friend.

Kurt smiled shyly as he walked off the stage, and as the applause continued, everyone still standing, Blaine flopped down into his chair, a bit dazed and completely overwhelmed. He knew Kurt was amazing and deserved everything, but up until that moment, Kurt was _his,_ a well-kept secret Blaine could adore in private, an open door just waiting for him to walk through. The sheer brilliance and bravery and _badass-ness_ that was Kurt Hummel would soon be unleashed on the world, and Blaine knew, he _knew,_ he was running out of chances.

And then, just a few days later, the future came back and punched him again.

The Warblers had happily invited their former rivals and crossover friends, the New Directions to their graduation party, especially because it ensured that it would be co-ed. That graduates were all pleasantly buzzed on tequila shots (courtesy of Puck) and champagne (courtesy of Nick's sister Sharon) when Brittany and Tina started screaming, "Yes!" and yanked Kurt out of a chair.

Tina shouted, "Turn it up!" and as the opening bars of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" flooded the room, all eyes turned to the trio.

They lined up, Kurt in the middle, and started the iconic dance like, perfectly, like they practiced the damn thing every Saturday for years, or something.

Blaine had no idea his mouth was hanging open until David reached over and covered it with his own hand, laughing. Blaine yanked David's hand away, glared at him for half a second and then went back to staring at Kurt.

"Um, did he just bend himself in half?" Jeff asked.

"Yes. Yes, he did," David said.

Blaine was mesmerized by Kurt's ass as he and the girls turned their backs on the crowd and started shaking it with their arms raised over their heads.

"Kurt has a stellar ass," Jeff said, careful not to take his eyes off of it.

"Shut up," Blaine said.

"No really, I never noticed it before. It's like, so sweet, and firm, he could probably do porn," Jeff said.

"You're drunk," Blaine warned, eyes still on Kurt.

"Doesn't change the fact that Kurt has a fine, fine, porn star ass."

The girls were pretty, and probably looking sexy, but all eyes were on Kurt, who seemed to have lost what was left of his inhibitions in his last glass of champagne. They pumped their arms, pointed to the ring finger on their left hands and sassed it up good and proper. Kurt turned and stuck his butt out toward them, and Blaine gasped.

 _"And_ now he's slapping it," Jeff said. "Why, _why_ didn't I notice his superior ass when I had the chance. Why?"

"What would you have done about it, anyway?" David asked.

"Something. Something amazing and... satisfying."

"Shut. The hell. Up," Blaine said, glaring at Jeff. He knew he was just having fun, wasn't really serious about dating Kurt, or whatever he thought about doing to him. But still. _Still._

Blaine turned back to Kurt just as he started pivoting his hips. It was obscene, really, the way his hips looked like they would pop right out of their sockets. Kurt looked right at Blaine, his eyes dark and his mouth curved in a suggestive smirk. There was only one thing anyone could think about watching him gyrate in his too-tight jeans: sex, sex and more sex. And _sex._ He knew Kurt was still a virgin; neither of them had even had a hookup, much less a boyfriend. But damn. _Damn._ It sure _looked_ like Kurt was intimately familiar with...

"—hot, sweaty, monkey sex," Jeff said, a wild smile spread out across his deceptively innocent face.

"Excuse me?" Blaine demanded.

"I _said_ it looks like Kurt's been gettin' some."

"He's not... he hasn't... that's none of your business."

"Okay, okay. I didn't realize you were still hot for him," Jeff said in earnest. "Sorry. I was just playing."

"What do you mean, _'still'_ hot for him?"

"Well, you know, your crush."

"My what?"

"Shh! We agreed not to talk about that in front of Rose," David said, slurring his words.

Jeff giggled and leaned into Blaine. "Right. Sorry."

"Who's Rose?" Blaine asked. 

"You. Because you're the ditzy one," Nick said, finally rousing from his alcohol-induced haze.

"I don't get it," Blaine said.

"Rose Nylund. The dumb one from _The Golden Girls,"_ Jeff said, rolling his eyes. "What kind of gay are you?"

"The kind who doesn't watch reruns of a show about old ladies sitting around eating cheesecake," Blaine replied. "Why kind of gay are _you?"_

"The kind that fucks girls," David said, laughing at his own joke.

Kurt looked straight at Blaine then, and pointed at him when he mouthed the words, _'cause you had your turn, and now you gonna learn, what it really feels like to miss me._

Blaine's eyes bugged out of his head; he was sure the entire room could see him sweat. Kurt's smile was wicked and flirty and just exactly what Blaine needed to push him over the edge. Blaine cursed his erection and tried to hide it by crossing his legs, but he was seated too far back against the couch. He hoped the dim lighting would take care of it, because if one of the boys noticed, they would tease him about it until his last dying breath.

Kurt jutted his hips out again, which had Jeff pretending to pant heavily, and Blaine elbowed him in the side. There was a leg thing, and then more hips, and an arm thing, and head tilts, and hands outstretched, and then it was over and the boys were on their feet, scrambling to get to Kurt and the girls.

Blaine wanted to run to Kurt, to take him by the hand, drag him outside into the new summer air and kiss him until the sun came up. He wanted to hold his ass in his both hands and squeeze, dip three fingers under the waistband of his jeans and slide down, down, down until he could feel it for himself. He wanted to pull him down onto the ground and rut him into the grass, into the cool earth below, all the way to China.

But he was stuck. On the couch. Waiting out his goddamn boner.

He watched as Jeff flirted with Kurt, who just laughed and looked at over at Blaine, eyebrows raised as if to say, "What the hell is up with Jeff. Is he high?" Blaine smiled back, but he could tell Kurt was confused as to why he had stayed on the couch.

By the time Blaine's dick had cooperated enough to allow him to stand without being found out, Kurt had been swallowed up by the girls and just like all of the other opportunities—in dorm rooms and in cars, in theater seats and in the shower, on counter tops and couches, in bathrooms and in the Dalton kitchen, on blankets in parks and on benches in dressing rooms, standing behind thick velvet curtains, waiting in the wings—the moment was gone.

An hour later he was letting the bar hold him up as he poured himself yet another shot, when David came up behind him and wrapped an arm over his shoulder. "You best get on that, Anderson. Make a plan, sing a song, get down on your knees and beg, whatever it takes. _Make it so."_

Blaine looked into his glass for answers as David shuffled away in search of a willing girl. He knew David was right. He had wasted a year, an entire _year_ in his feigned contentment, in his fear. And now, the greatest fear wasn't that young love untested would ruin their fated friendship; he was worried that Kurt was too good for him, and would soon find out. Kurt, with all of his brilliance, and pride, and originality; Kurt with those _hips;_ Kurt with his blind trust in Blaine, his fierce loyalty, his bright light of a future, _was,_ in fact, the greatest catch on the planet. Blaine wondered if he could ever land Kurt, much less keep him.

Which is how he found himself, just days later, asking Kurt to join him at his grandparents' place in Wisconsin. The plan was simple: Take Kurt on a getaway. Confess his love for Kurt. Kiss and make out. (Hopefully more.) Become boyfriends. Live happily ever after. The end.

Now, with Kurt asleep next to him and the plan taking shape, Blaine realizes he has absolutely no idea what he's going to say.

 _I will tell him. I will. But what if I say too much? Would it better to just tone it down, maybe tell him I really like him; that I want him; that I want us to try? I don't want to scare him away. Maybe he's already thinking about all of the boys he'll date in New York, and doesn't want to be tied down to me, or anyone. Maybe I should keep it casual, no pressure, just_ start _this thing and see where it takes us._

Kurt wakes up as the traffic slows, Chicago in sight. They're bypassing the city, but they're still crawling along, down to two lanes for long stretches.

"I slept forever. Why didn't you wake me?" Kurt asks.

Blaine turns to smile at Kurt, shrugs, and takes a drink of his water. "Have you ever been to Chicago before?"

"No. But my mother grew up here," Kurt says. He looks out the window at the city, and then turns back to Blaine. "It looks huge to me. But I bet it will look tiny after I get used to New York."

"Probably. Hey, I thought you told me your mother's folks live in Florida," Blaine says.

"They do. They're snowbirds. Well, they _were_ snowbirds, but then I guess when my parents got married, they decided to sell their place in Chicago and live in Florida year-round. They were in their 40s when they had her, so, they were ready to retire," Kurt explains. "I went to Disney a lot. It was fun."

"I wish I had known your mom," Blaine says for what must be the twentieth time.

"I wish I had known her better," Kurt muses, looking out the window again. "Hey! That reminds me—I found this song the other day, this remake of one of the _Free to Be You and Me_ songs. That whole album reminds me of my mom. She used to play it for me all the time. Like seriously, _all the time._ Could I play the song?"

"Sure," Blaine says, adding, "What's _Free to Be You and Me?"_

"You're kidding, right?"

"Umm... no?"

"Blaine! Didn't your parents play it for you? Oh my _GOD,_ you _ARE_ serious right now? Marlo Thomas? Carol Channing? Diana Ross? Harry Belafonte?"

Blaine shakes his head; he only knows a couple of the names.

Kurt bounces in his seat with excitement. _"Blaine,_ that album helped me get through so much, I can't tell you. It's all about defying gender stereotypes, but you know, for kids. It was my mom's album, when she was a kid."

"Well that explains why _I've_ never heard of it," Blaine says. "My parents? Please."

"I have to play it for you when we get home. My favorites were "[William Wants a Doll](http://youtu.be/Lshobg1Wt2M)," which is about this little boy who really wants a doll of his very own, and "[When We Grow Up](http://youtu.be/G43foXnPDsI)," the Diana Ross song. Actually, that is my favorite. My mom sang it for me. A lot."

"Sing it for me?"

"Okay."

Blaine smiles as Kurt starts in on a sweet children's song that was practically made for his voice, and not for the first time, wishes Kurt had decided to pursue music instead of design. 

The design bug bit Kurt after he took an off-campus class in metalworking for extra credit in the first quarter of their senior year. He made this beautiful end table, which he gave to Burt and Carol for Christmas, and surprised everyone when he proclaimed, "I want to design and make furniture."

Kurt sings, _"Well, I don't care if I'm pretty at all. And I don't care if you never get tall,"_ poking Blaine in the side on the last word. _"I like what I look like, and you're nice small. We don't have to change at all."_

Blaine had been a little sad when he heard Kurt's news, their plans to attend Berklee together dashed. He was happy for Kurt, of course. It's a beautiful thing to see the person you love unearth a passion. But still, Kurt's musical talent was unmatched. Every time he sings, his voice stays with Blaine long after they part and on into his dreams. It stays with him so long, he's sure he hears the echoes of it when wakes up in the morning.

The car slows to a stop, stuck behind a delivery van, and Blaine steals a glance at Kurt. He's off in his own world, each note pure and clear. Blaine reaches over and takes his hand because this is something they do, something they're used to doing, and he just needs to get his hands on Kurt. He can see Kurt's eyes begin to mist. Blaine flips his hand over, rubs his thumb over his wrist like he's done for months, for ages, ever since he discovered it could calm Kurt almost instantly.

_"And when we grow up, do you think we'll see, that I'm still like you and you're still like me? I might be pretty; you might grow tall. But we don't have to change at all."_

When Kurt finishes the song he turns to face Blaine, his eyes wet with tears unshed. "Thanks... for letting me sing that. I know it's a silly little song."

"It's not. _It isn't."_

"Well, thanks anyway."

Blaine looks at Kurt and wills one tear to fall, just one, so he has a reason to reach over and brush it away. He wants to touch Kurt's face, feel his soft skin, stroke his cheeks with his fingertips, let his thumb drop down and hook under his chin. He stares at Kurt's lips, his perfect, kissable, gorgeous, perfect, soft, amazing, perfect lips, and sighs.

Kurt clears his throat and nods toward the road ahead of them. Blaine turns to look and realizes the traffic is moving now, and he's just sitting there.

"Sorry," he says, and quickly takes his foot off the brake, accelerating to keep up with the other cars.

"You know, you'll have to work on your driving so that when you visit me in New York, so you don't, you know, _die._ New Yorkers aren't quite as nice as Midwesterners."

"I'm not bringing my car with me to Boston, so no worries there."

"You're not?"

"No. It's too much hassle. I can get around easily with public transportation, and it costs a fortune to park it," Blaine explains.

"You can afford it."

"My parents can afford it. I can't. You know my grandfather's trust only covers tuition, books and housing. There's no stipend."

Kurt folds his arms, and Blaine knows he's thinking about how much he'd like to have the option to turn down money from _his_ parents, who are scrimping and sacrificing to pay for Kurt's out-of-state tuition. But Kurt doesn't say anything, and Blaine knows it's because Kurt knows that he too is fortunate; other than getting decent grades and graduating, the money from Burt and Carol doesn't come with conditions. And Kurt knows the reason why, come August, Blaine is giving up his car, his allowance, and save for a ticket home for the holidays, every other form of financial help from his parents. Cutting financial ties from his parents is the only way he'll ever be truly free from their conditions, stipulations and expectations.

"Well, having a car in New York is just stupid anyway," Kurt says. "Even if it's only for one weekend, every other month."

"Exactly."

They spend the next three hours discussing plans they've already talked to death. The classes they want to take, first year. Finding shoebox apartments. How they'll decorate their shoebox apartments. The cheapest way to get from Manhattan to Boston. Worthy options for their first spring break vacation. What they want to try; the things they promise they'll never try.

They're pulling into a parking spot near Michelangelo's on State Street in Madison when Kurt screams and jumps out of the car.

"What?" Blaine shouts after him. He gets out of the car, locks it and goes to Kurt, who is staring at a poster with rainbow colored stars all over it. _"What?"_ he asks again.

Kurt pivots on one foot, almost a twirl, beaming. "Pride, Blaine. _Pride."_

"Gay pride?"

"Is there any other kind?"

Kurt drags him to the poster that reads, "PrideFest Milwaukee, June 8-10."

"Milwaukee, not Madison. And it's next weekend," Blaine says.

"I _know._ But it's not that far. Couldn't we stop on our way home? We'll stay for just a few hours. We could go to our first Pride _together,_ Blaine."

_As boyfriends. We could go to our first Pride together as boyfriends. I could stick my hand in the back pocket of Kurt's too-tight jeans and kiss him on the cheek, his shoulder, under his jaw. I could show him off, wrap my arm around his waist and narrow my eyes at anyone who wants him. I could whisper our names into his hand and then cover it with my own and let the beauty of our love seep into our skin, our blood, our cells, our bones._

"You're right. We _have_ to go," Blaine says.

Kurt claps his hands and hugs Blaine, tightly, arms locked across his back like he wants to hang on to him forever, like they're about to be airlifted out of their lives, pulled to greatness by a rope in the sky. And for the first time since he realized his feelings for Kurt, Blaine really and truly believes that it will all work out. Somehow, someway, they will be together.

Michelangelo's is relaxed and artsy, nothing like the Lima Bean, and they love it. There's an eclectic group of people, most of them young, all of them seemingly more interesting than anyone else they know. They order coffee to go and try not to seem like two recent high school graduates from Ohio.

Outside a group of girls play cards and smoke cigarettes while they drink black-as-pitch coffee. Kurt chooses a table next to them and immediately starts a conversation with them. "Do you mind if I ask you girls a question?"

A soft butch girl with super short, spiked black hair says, "What's up?"

"We're traveling up to Rice Lake, but well be going through Milwaukee this weekend. Which day is the best day to go to Pride?"

"Saturday, for sure. Come in the afternoon, when the best bands start," she says. "I'm Lucy. Give me your phone and I'll put my number in. We can meet up."

"Perfect!" Kurt says, handing her his phone. "I like your hair, by the way. It's a little baby-bird crazy, but you can pull it off."

Lucy says, "Thanks," and the other girls smile warmly at them like they're all friends now.

When they're back on the road Blaine says, "I can't believe you, sometimes. What if they weren't gay?"

"First of all, 'what if they weren't gay?' Do you even _have_ gaydar, Blaine? And secondly, this is Madison. Madison. The liberal epicenter of the Midwest. Chances are, if they were straight, they were probably already going to Pride, or knew someone who was going to Pride, or whatever."

"How do you know this?"

"Tumblr, Blaine. You know, that thing I do while you're doodling in your music comp book?"

Blaine laughs and they both settle into their seats. Kurt takes two sandwiches and two apples from his soft cooler and hands one of each to Blaine. They point out houses they like, chatter about the difference between Wisconsin, Ohio and Illinois, and discuss the merits of Northwestern University's drama program, where Mercedes, Santana and David will be attending in the fall.

When they get back on the highway Kurt says, "Wait! I forgot to play you that song I mentioned, the cover. It's "Brothers and Sisters" from _Free to Be You and Me._ May I play it now?" 

"Absolutely."

[ **PRESS PLAY** ](http://youtu.be/tzgAV4QorQg)

With the first notes, the mood in the car changes instantly. Suddenly they're not college-bound prep school graduates discussing architecture and weighing majors; they're teenagers on their first road trip, being silly and loud and crazy. Blaine loves the song _immediately,_ and cranks it. It's amazing, and he wants to stop the car so they can dance by the side of the road.

Kurt knows all of the words, but the words just repeat, so Blaine picks them up pretty quickly and starts singing along. They roll down their windows and stick their arms out the window like a couple of kids, moving them up and down in time with the music. Kurt shimmies in his seat and now that Blaine is sure of the words, he leans forward over the steering wheel and belts it.

When the song is over, Blaine looks over at Kurt and says, "Play it again."

They play the song over and over, six, maybe seven times, until they have it _down._ The song, their voices, the closeness of the car, their destination, it fills Blaine with so much happy he feels he might burst, right there on I-94. 

He wants to say it now, say, _I'm in love with you, please be with me, I can't take it one more minute._

He wants to slip his hand behind Kurt's neck and pull him in for a kiss, wet, and sloppy, and full of promises he's wanted to make for so long, promises he's memorized, and keeps, sewn into his heart.

But now Kurt is fiddling with is iPod, looking for other songs to car-dance to, and the moment _—sigh—_ is gone. Again.

Blaine shrugs it off. He has the whole week to do it, and it will be better at his grandparents' place. More memorable. He's narrowed it down to four possibilities: night swimming, bonfire, picnic on front lawn, or sleeping porch. He's leaning toward telling him around the bonfire, wrapping Kurt up in his Dalton hoodie and a wool blanket, holding his face in his hands and letting the truth fall from his lips like nothing, like air, like stars falling from the sky.

They sing, and talk, and dance in their seats all the way to Rice Lake, anxious to get settled. Blaine turns off the highway and onto the back roads he knows so well, roads for which he never needed to learn the name, roads burned into his memory from birth.

When they arrive at the Anderson dock at Red Cedar Lake, just after six o'clock, Kurt looks puzzled. "Where's the cabin?"

"Across the lake," Blaine replies.

"And how do we get there? Am I expected to swim?" Kurt teases.

Blaine hears a motor in the distance and looks out behind Kurt, across the water. "There's Jim now. He and his wife Ruth live on the property, take care of everything year-round. He'll get us there."

Kurt turns to look at the pontoon boat lumbering across the lake, and then back to Blaine. "What else aren't you telling me, Blaine Anderson?"

"Nothing. I just, I didn't think of it. Sorry."

"I'm teasing. It's fine. So when you say 'property,' what exactly do you mean?" Kurt asks.

"You'll see."

Blaine and Kurt grab their bags and take them out to the edge of the dock, waiting for Jim. "That is a slow boat," Kurt says.

"It's easier to get in and out of, so Jim uses it to transport people back and forth. We have others, if you want to go fast."

"Oh, I want to go fast," Kurt says. "Can you drive a boat?"

"Sure."

"Will you take me out tonight? I want to go out on the lake at night. Can we do that?"

"Yes."

When Jim, a 60-something burly guy in an old polo and jeans pulls up to the dock, Kurt is bouncing on the balls of his feet, happy. Blaine steps up and grabs the rail of the boat. He takes one of the lines and hitches it to a cleat, and then reaches over to shake Jim's hand. "Hey Jim, thanks for coming."

"No problem, son. Ruth is jumping out of her skin, baking nonstop. This your friend?"

"Jim Swanson, this is my best friend and fellow Dalton alum, Kurt Hummel," Blaine says with pride.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you so much for picking us up," Kurt says, extending his hand over the rail.

"Happy to. This all your stuff?"

"Yes, but we've got it. Kurt, you first," Blaine says, holding open the small gate.

With Kurt and their bags safely on board, Blaine unties the line and Jim starts pulling away from the dock. Kurt looks nervous at first, and then genuinely scared when Blaine pushes the boat away from the dock and then hops on. "What?"

"You're a regular dock boy, aren't you?"

"Damn straight he is," Jim says proudly. "Although, you won't see many Andersons pushing off, will you Blaine?"

"Nope."

It's a short trip, and Jim talks their ears off, mostly Ruth's gossip that he pretends not to listen to, but always remembers. When they pull up to the _other_ Anderson dock, Kurt looks up at the two-story, wooden building and says, "Is that the cabin?"

"Cabin?" Jim asks.

"Er, no. That's the boathouse," Blaine replies.

"Aren't you two staying in the main house?" Jim asks.

"Yes."

"So the cabin is on this island?" Kurt asks.

"There are cabins on this island, yes," Jim replies. "But this is the Anderson's island. Nobody else lives here, except me and Ruth, of course."

Kurt looks at Blaine for a moment, but asks nothing further. When the boat is docked properly, they all walk up a little daisy-lined path, through birchwood trees and evergreens, until they arrive on the main lawn, looking impressive as ever. Jim says, "I'll just go tell Ruth we're back. You boys settle in, and then go find her in the kitchen, okay?"

Blaine nods, his eyes glued to the Kurt's back.

"I thought you said this was a cabin," Kurt says, turning to face him.

"It is."

"Blaine, your grandparents own an island."

"It's just a tiny island—"

"—and this is _not_ a cabin. This is a compound!"

"It's not like _I_ own the place."

Kurt ignores Blaine and practically skips up to the main entrance, his eyes huge and his smile bright and wide. Blaine follows, taking in his surroundings—the "main house," more like a lodge, really; the rows of white Adirondack chairs facing the lake; the gardens. He remembers lazy, silly, laughter-filled summers past, before puberty, before his cousins started falling in line and he... didn't.

He watches Kurt, imagines him here, years from now, smiling and laughing and kissing Ruth on the cheek just the way she likes. He imagines Kurt choosing a favorite bedroom for them, nuzzling up against him on the sleeping porch as they watch the fireflies dart about, reading a novel by the stone fireplace, Blaine's feet in his lap, laughing over his use of inappropriate Scrabble words. 

Kurt gasps, turns on his heel, hand on his hip and says, "Blaine. Are you serious right now?"

"Huh?"

Kurt gestures to the 70-year-old plaque behind him. "The Island of Happy Days? _The Island of Happy Days?"_

"Oh, right. That's, uh, what they named it. My grandfather's grandfather, I think. Or maybe my grandfather's great-grandfather. I'm not sure about that."

"Oh my god, I feel like a Kennedy!" Kurt says, bouncing on his heels. Blaine smiles and ducks his head. What he wouldn't give to bring Kurt here _with_ his family, summer after summer. "I mean, not that I'm, like, _related_ to you, just... you know, _you're_ like a Kennedy... like a Midwestern Kennedy, and I—"

"Shut up," Blaine says, laughing. "You're my best friend. That counts."

Kurt blushes and says, "I'm just really glad I'm here. With you."

"Me too," Blaine says, trying not to stare at Kurt's lips. He really needs to stop doing that. Until he can.

"So... where are we sleeping?"

*

Chapter Two

Kurt is in love with Ruth. In her mid 50s with soft curves, a warm smile and a contagious laugh, Ruth is perfect "favorite Aunt" material. She and Jim have been taking care of the island property for 26 years. Blaine doesn't treat her _like_ family; she _is_ family.

"Kurt, stop. I've got it," she says, snatching the dishtowel from his hands.

"But I want to help," he protests.

Jim is sitting at the breakfast nook, shuffling a deck of cards. He leans back in his chair and says, "You are not evenly matched, young man."

From his perch on one of the stools at the kitchen island, Blaine leans over to grab another cookie. He shakes his head at Kurt and smiles.

"Okay, okay," Kurt relents. "But would you at least let me make breakfast sometime this week? Or... something?"

"Sure, thing. We like change, don't we Jim?" Ruth teases.

"Only on Fridays," Jim replies.

"Why only on Fridays?" Kurt asks.

"Friday is the day for sin," Jim says, still shuffling cards.

Kurt is instantly on guard, wondering if Blaine forgot to mention that he was forcing him to spend a week with Bible-thumpers who, at best, disapproved of their "chosen" lifestyle.

"Be quiet, Jim! You're going to scare this poor boy right off the island, and then Blaine will be sad for the rest of his days," Ruth says.

"What? I do my best sinning on Fridays. Seems like as good a day as any for a change in routine," Jim says. He looks up then, smiles at Kurt, and then starts dealing two sets of cards.

"If by sinning you mean watching old _Frasier_ re-runs until you pass out on the couch with your pants unbuttoned, then I guess you're the biggest sinner of all," Ruth says, turning to Kurt. "He's teasing you. Ignore him."

Blaine smiles at Kurt with a mouth full of cookie, but still says nothing. He looks back and forth between the three of them, eyes happy and bright, enjoying the show. He looks so expectant, so excited to have all three of them in the same room together, Kurt feels like he's meeting Blaine's parents—his _real_ parents. They're nothing like the Andersons, who are steeped in pomp and entitlement. With their easy, soft, unconditional acceptance, Ruth and Jim are everything the Anderson's _are not,_ and everything Blaine needs.

"Why don't you take Kurt out on the lake like you promised, then?" Jim asks.

"Do you still want to go?" Blaine asks.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Take the pontoon. You can take one of the speedboats out tomorrow, if you want to ski, or whatever. But keep it calm tonight," Jim says.

Blaine nods, hops off the stool and kisses Ruth on the cheek. "Thanks for the best dinner ever," he says.

Kurt follows, going in for a hug, which Ruth accepts without pause. "Thank you for having me this week. You're making me feel very welcome, and I appreciate it."

"Well you're the first boy Blaine has ever brought home, so it is most definitely no trouble at all," Ruth says. She turns back to her dishes, and after they say goodnight to Jim, Kurt follows Blaine down to the boathouse.

They walk quietly back down the path they followed in reverse earlier, the lantern in Blaine's hand their only source of light. When they reach the dock, Blaine motions for Kurt to get on first, but Kurt shakes his head. "Would it be easier if I untied the rope from the thing—?"

"The cleat."

 _"The cleat._ Should I untie and help you push off?"

"Well, sure, but you've never done it before—"

"I watched you do it, and I have at least six inches on you in the leg department, so I think I'm good," Kurt says.

"Not _six."_

Kurt unties the line and tosses it in the boat, and then pushes the boat out a bit. Blaine starts the motor and says, "Jump on."

Blaine takes it easy, standing at the wheel as he looks over the left side of the boat to make sure they clear the dock. After a few minutes he sits down, picks up speed and soon they're humming along across the dark water, a million stars overhead. There are a few other boats on the lake, most of them on their way back home, but none that come close enough to exchange pleasantries.

Kurt watches Blaine. Here he's more relaxed, easy, and yet still the same person who picked him up that morning before dawn, bright and cheery and bouncing off the walls. He wonders how this place can have such a calming affect on him. Is it the lake? The island? The people? And, how did he not know about this before? They've only spent every possible waking moment together since Kurt transferred to Dalton.

"Ruth referred to this place as 'home' when she talked about you inviting boys here," Kurt says suddenly, as if he'd been sharing his thoughts with Blaine all along.

"Huh?"

"She said you've never brought any boys 'home' before. Do you consider the island to be your home?"

Blaine doesn't answer immediately, and for a few minutes, it's just the sound of the motor and their wake cutting through night-quiet water. After he kills the motor he turns to face Kurt and says, "I guess I do, in a way. It's the only place I feel completely myself." He looks like he wants to add something, but presses his lips together instead.

"You never talk about it," Kurt says.

"Well, I used to come here for most of the summer, and now I only come for the big family stuff," Blaine says.

"That reunion you went to last July?"

"Yeah. It's really more of an annual business meeting with, you know, kids and hamburgers ands stuff," Blaine says.

"Oh. I just... you seem so fond of Ruth and Jim, and you've never mentioned them," Kurt prods. 

"To explain why they mean so much to me means I have to explain why my parents don't," Blaine says. "And you know I don't like talking about them."

Kurt nods and Blaine swivels on his chair, leans back a bit, arms crossed; he looks up at the night sky. He's somber now, no trace of the carefree boy who kissed Ruth not twenty minutes ago. 

Kurt settles into it; he knows this side of Blaine. This brooding boy is all hard edges and locked doors, but Kurt doesn't find him difficult, or annoying, or less amazing. To him, this boy is beautiful in every way. He can be patient, wait for Blaine to shake off the memories with which he may never make peace, uncoil from the anger that he's getting better at managing, and smile. _Smile._ It may take a few minutes, but the smile will come. It always does.

Kurt listens to the water lapping against the side of the boat, and for the tenth time that day, wonders why Blaine _really_ asked him to come to Wisconsin. He's been acting strange ever since the Warbler graduation party, extra jumpy, and clingy. Kurt doesn't mind. It's nice, actually, to be on the receiving end of Blaine Anderson's undivided attention. But Kurt is practiced at not reading too much into Blaine's moods, or actions; his hugs, his sideways glances, his midnight texts; the winks, shoulder bumps, the too-close cuddles.

His love for Blaine is just a part of him now, like waking up early every day without an alarm; like the tiny, pear-shaped birthmark under his right ear; like his middle name. And because he is so accustomed to this love, he knows all too well that no matter how much he wants it to be so, no matter how inappropriate and confusing Blaine is in his attentions, no matter how frustratingly possessive Blaine gets, no matter how tightly he holds Kurt's hand at exactly the right time, Blaine does not return his feelings.

Once upon a time Kurt hoped, wished, dreamed that Blaine would love him back _that way._ But now that they are about to be college students, _adults,_ the fact that Blaine still hasn't come to his senses yet is somewhat of a relief. 

Kurt is excited about stepping into the life of a college freshman, single. He'll be free to come into his own without the pressure of "staying together," something Rachel has been fretting over for months. She cried so hard through the entire McKinley graduation she couldn't even sing her obnoxious solo. (The first, and likely, _last_ time she ever gave up a chance to shine.) Watching her fall apart as she tried to make two dreams happen at once was enough motivation for Kurt to need to make things happen with Blaine on ice.

Well, except for that little backslide at the Warbler graduation party. He did everything but strip and sit in Blaine's lap, but he _was_ drunk. Very drunk. And Blaine looked so delicious, _and_ the girls seemed so certain it would result in the two of them making out, at the very least, _and_ he had recently come to appreciate the merits of hot amateur "boyfriend" porn. He was feeling sexy, and confident, and grown up. It was the perfect storm, really. How could he not show Blaine everything he was missing?

Kurt looks at Blaine's face now, hard lines softening, and smiles.

 _Whatever this is, whatever we have, it will have to be enough. He cares about me. He would probably do anything_ for me. _But he's not in love with me. We're on the verge of everything, all at once, and that's all he can do. He can't see his own heart through the haze of all of this possibility. And really, what's so wrong with that? I want to see things, do things, feel things I've never experienced before. I want a big life. I want tomorrow to be today. Most of all, I want to stop wanting and start_ being. _And then maybe later... maybe._

Kurt is holding on to maybe. Until then, he is going to have a damn good time with this boy he loves.

In the distance there is laughter, voices, the din of music. The sounds skid across the lake and nudge him, like a message from the future. It sounds like summer, and possibility, and friendship, and he's so damn happy to be with Blaine in this moment he could burst right out of his skin.

"I'm really glad... no, I'm _honored_ that you chose to show me this place," Kurt says. "But why _did_ you bring me here?"

"You're my best friend," Blaine says. He looks at Kurt, his gaze intense and searching. "Everything is about to change and I wanted you to know... I wanted—"

"Yes?"

"I just... wanted you here."

Kurt smiles and says, "So this is like some sort of last hurrah, bonding vacation?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"And will this vacation include water skiing?" Kurt teases.

"If you want," Blaine replies. "Do you think you can get up?"

"Sorry?" Kurt asks, blushing.

"On skis. Can you get up on skis?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I've never tried," Kurt replies.

"It's pretty hard. You'll fall down a lot, but if you keep at it, you'll probably get it," Blaine says.

Kurt looks out across the water, black and tinged by moonlight and says, "I am nothing if not persistent."

 

The next three days are filled with silly, lazy, unencumbered fun. They wake up whenever, find each other, groggy, and then make their way to the kitchen. They offer sleep-sweet greetings to Ruth and Jim, and then down two pots of coffee over omelets, gossip and local weather reports, like they've lived here their entire lives. They go for walks, and swim, and read voraciously, and in between it all, take naps. 

They sing together every day; sometimes in otherwise quiet moments, nestled up against each other on one bed or another; sometimes at the piano in the rec room, playing Ruth's favorites as Jim waltzes or two-steps her across the barn wood floors. They make fires in the stone fireplace and stay up late talking about bucket lists, and duets, and sepia-toned memories they've never before shared with each other.

They mix drinks from a bottle of rum Jim leaves outside Blaine's door one morning, douse themselves in citronella bug repellant and get tipsy in the Adirondack chairs, waiting for the Northern Lights. 

Over breakfast the following morning, when Kurt mentions they hoped to see the ghostly, fantastical light show, Jim says it's too early in the season. Ruth doesn't look up from her frying pan when she says, "It's the end of the goddamn world, Jim. If we can get to 70 degrees in February we can get the Northern Lights in June."

Kurt practically lives in his swimsuit until nightfall, something he hasn't done since he was seven and spent every single day of summer at the Lima Community Pool with his mom, swimming and reading and sucking down ice pops. Blaine seems over the moon about Kurt's newfound casual boy self, and takes full advantage. He eagerly coaxes Kurt into rope swing challenges (winner = Blaine), diving challenges (winner = Kurt) and later, when the sun winds down and the mosquitos come out, croquet challenges on the front lawn (winner = Ruth).

 

On the fourth day, Jim takes Blaine and Kurt out in the speedboat, determined to get Kurt up on skis. Blaine goes first and is up on his second try, the memory of summers past forever etched into his muscles. Once he's up, Blaine waves at them, and Jim raises his hand and spins his arm in a wide circle. He then turns to Kurt and says, "Let me know when he wipes out."

Watching Blaine bounce along behind them, then find his groove, sliding over to one side of the wake, and then to the other, Kurt's breath catches and he has to stop himself from shouting, "God, he's gorgeous" in Jim's ear. Blaine stays up through four wide turns and only falls when Jim starts to double back. When they come up beside him, skis bobbing in the water, hair wet and plastered to his head, Kurt feels his heart pinch a little. Blaine is so happy here, out of uniform, out of time.

"Your turn!" Blaine shouts when they get close enough.

Jim cuts the motor and Blaine uses the rope to pull himself closer to the boat. He takes off his skis and hands them to Jim. Blaine stays in the water while Kurt slips into a black life vest, and lets Jim adjust the skis to his feet. He plops into the water, a bit nervous, but excited just the same. Before he can say as much, Blaine is right up beside him, pulling a bit on the vest at the waist, guiding him out behind the boat. He grabs the rope and pulls the handle to them.

He's right behind Kurt, his own vest pressed up against Kurt's back, when he launches into his instructions. "Let the top half of the skis bob up out of the water. Yeah, just like that. Take this handle and hold it between the two skis. Don't grip too hard right now, just feel it in your hands."

Blaine moves closer, wraps his arms around Kurt from behind and fiddles with the front of Kurt's vest. "Just want to make sure you're safe." 

Kurt can feel Blaine's breath behind his ear, the water from his hair dripping down on to Kurt's shoulder, his cold, wet skin as his strong arms brush against his own. It feels like more—more intense, more full of _intent_ than he's felt from Blaine in a long time, as if Blaine is actually _flirting_ with him.

He noticed it on the first full day on the island, the way Blaine would blush a little too pink when caught staring a little too long at Kurt's calves, his toes, his chest, his neck. Once, when Blaine was sitting on Kurt's bed while he rifled through his toiletry bag, Kurt looked up in time to catch Blaine's reflection in the mirror: he was staring shamelessly at Kurt's ass. Something was definitely up with Blaine, but Kurt wasn't going there. No way. Every time he guessed Blaine wanted something more than this crazy intense, unbelievably awesome, joined-at-the-hip friendship, he ended up being proven wrong.

"Lift your knees, and pull them into your chest," Blaine says. It's only when Kurt is in this position that he realizes what it would mean if he were say, _not_ in the water but on a bed, _on his back._ He hopes Blaine won't notice that he's blushing from head to toe, or, will at least chalk it up to Kurt's pale skin reacting to cold lake water.

"Wait for the rope to straighten out, and then keep your butt in the water until you feel ready to lift your legs. Don't use your arms to pull up, though, or you'll fall. Once you're up, keep your knees bent," Blaine explains. "When you see Jim get close to the turn, move over to the opposite side and lean into it. And if you need to stop, just let go of the rope."

Blaine backs away from Kurt and swims to the boat. Kurt forces himself not to groan at the sight of Blaine's arms as he pulls himself onto the edge of the boat—those veins are going to kill him. Instead, he concentrates on remembering Blaine's instructions, determined to pull this off without embarrassing himself in front of Blaine, Jim, and every other boater out on the lake today.

The pull of the rope is a shock at first, but Kurt gives himself over to it, careful to keep his knees bent as he lifts himself up out of the water on the first try. He's almost all the way up when he hears Blaine screaming from the boat. He can't make out what he's saying, but he can see Blaine and Jim laughing and smiling, so he must be doing something right. 

After a few minutes he leans to the left and crosses the wake. Blaine jumps up and down in the boat.

Kurt loves the rush; it's like flying. He can feel the speed of the boat in every muscle in his body.

He crosses back over and to the other side when Jim approaches the turn and manages to stay upright. He wishes they were on the Mississippi River so he could just stay upright all day, his friend cheering him on, the whir of the motor and the sound of the wake wrapping him up in this eternal moment, where he is just _here,_ just Kurt.

When he loses track of his body, he stands a bit too tall, and falls forward, letting go of the rope. He lets the water take him, as his vest slowly pulls him back up to the surface. There, waiting in the water for the boat to double back, he feels completely at peace. This is something he never imagined he would do, but he did it. This is a place he never imagined he would ever be but he's here. And this is when he realizes, no matter how unrequited this love is, this relationship has shaped him, made him better, helped him become someone he really likes, someone that could be loved by a boy, by a man by someone amazing... even if it turns out that _that_ boy, that _man,_ isn't Blaine.

Blaine is still screaming when the boat comes up beside him. "Kurt! Kurt! You are so amazing! You got up on your first fucking try, Kurt!"

"Hey now," Jim says calmly.

"Sorry, Jim."

Jim laughs and Blaine jumps into the water, vest long discarded, and swims to help Kurt make his way back to the boat. He takes Kurt's skis off for him, hands them to Jim, and then climbs back into the boat. When Kurt tries to pull himself up, his arms are like two long sacks of Jello, and he can't pull up even one inch.

"Blaine—"

"Oh, right. You get used to it after a few times out, but the first time knocks you out," Blaine says, reaching down to grab hold of Kurt's hand. "Give me both hands, and I'll pull you up."

Kurt lets Blaine yank him into the boat, his body flush with Kurt's as he staggers to keep them both upright. Kurt's legs wobble and his back aches; he can't bring himself to move off of Blaine, who now has him wrapped up in a very wet hug. "I'm so proud of you. That was seriously awesome!"

"You boys want to go again?" Jim asks.

"I will, yeah," Blaine says, guiding Kurt to a seat. He helps Kurt take off his vest, and then wraps a towel around his shoulders.

"Thanks," Kurt says. Blaine nods, puts on his vest and then slips back into the water, readying himself for his turn.

"You sure you never skied before?" Jim asks.

"I'm sure," Kurt says. "Thanks for taking me out."

"You lit Blaine up like the freakin' 4th of July, kid. I'll take you anywhere if you can keep that up."

Kurt smiles at Jim, and then settles into the towel. He won't read too much into what Jim said. Or Ruth's winks. Or Blaine's flirting. He'll ignore the butterflies in this stomach and the wish in his heart, and get on with things. He's really good at fresh starts, at mastering new things, hard things, things other people can't do. He may even get it right on the first try.

 

On the fifth day, Kurt wakes up from a nap feeling disoriented, still sore from the day before. He wanders around the main house looking for Blaine. He hears voices, and follows the sound until he realizes they're coming from the sleeping porch. He's about to say, "There you are," when the conversation stops him cold.

"It's one thing to lie to me, Blaine Anderson. It's another thing entirely to lie to yourself," Ruth says. Her voice is stern, but loving, so Kurt knows Blaine isn't in trouble. They're having a heart-to-heart and Kurt _should_ go, should leave them to it, but his feet won't move from their spot.

"But we _are_ just friends," Blaine says. "He's my best friend."

"I see the way you two look at each other," Ruth says. "That's love. Don't tell me it isn't."

"I do love him. But we're just friends. He's my best friend, and I love him. That's all. You _can_ trust us—"

Kurt can't listen to anymore. He backs up quietly, and then turns toward the front door. He knows it's true, has always known it to be true, and yet hearing it come out of Blaine's mouth yet again, here, in this magical place, cuts right through his heart and leaves him breathless.

Blaine says they're just friends, but then why does it always feel like so much _more?_

He follows the path that leads to Ruth and Jim's cabin, and when he reaches it he keeps walking, weaving through outbuildings and woodpiles, until he reaches a pole shed on the far end of the island. He pokes around, looking at snow blowers, tillers, old boats up on blocks and even a motorcycle. His Dad would love this place. He'd tinker in here for hours and then get Jim to take him out on the lake (with a secret stash of Wisconsin's finest beer).

Kurt sits in an old riding lawnmower and tries to remember the flying feeling, the sense of calm and accomplishment that left him determined to push past longing and this confounding "does he/doesn't he" mind fuck once and for all. It was only _yesterday,_ and here is again, caught up in the drama, the wondering. How is he supposed to get through the summer, college, _life,_ with this nagging feeling always at the center of everything?

He gives up waiting for answers among the motor oil and rusty parts, and walks back to the main house, stopping to pick a few lupins for Ruth on his way. When he finds her, she's pulling broiled whitefish from the oven. He puts the flowers in a vase he finds on one of the counters, and sits down at the breakfast nook to watch her.

"I'm not even going to ask if you need help," Kurt says, chin in hand.

"You learn quick," Ruth says, throwing a smile at him over her shoulder.

"Would you let me make you breakfast tomorrow? Please?" Kurt asks.

"You are set on that, aren't you? Okay, then. What are you making?"

"Do we have apples?" 

"A few."

"I'll make cinnamon apple pancakes, and whatever meat you want. Some eggs, maybe. Sound good?"

"That a family recipe?" she asks.

"My mom's, yeah. Also called "special occasion pancakes" by my Dad, and Finn," Kurt says.

"Your brother, right?"

"Yes. But only for the past couple of years," Kurt says. He explains the Hudson-Hummel family unit as Ruth folds the whitefish into other ingredients in a large bowl. She nods, asks little clarifying questions, smiles.

Jim and Blaine wander in just as Kurt is helping Ruth set the table, Blaine's face screwed up in annoyance and Jim's flushed, like they've been fighting.

"You agree with him?" Jim asks Ruth without so much as a hello.

"I do. He's a man now, Jim. Besides—"

"So what the hell are we supposed to do for two nights?" Jim asks in a huff.

"We're going up to the Cities. We're going to stay at the Sofitel and go to the Mall of America and see three movies in one day. On Saturday we'll visit my poor spinster sister and her many dogs in St. Paul, and then you and I are going to go out for dinner and dancing at Nye's Polonaise Room. You are going to wear a tie, and tell me I'm beautiful and kiss me on the mouth until I can't remember my maiden name. The rest is up to you. Okay?"

The room is silent, everyone shocked and waiting for Jim's reply. He looks at her, eyebrows raised, and then simply says, "Okay."

Blaine exhales, and Kurt stifles a giggle. He really is _in love_ with this woman. He wants to be her pen pal and teach her how to wear pastels. He wants to work in her garden for hours and sit at her feet at night until he falls asleep listening to one of her perfect stories. Most of all, he wants Blaine to have her with him, whenever and wherever he needs her.

"You boys stay out of the liquor cabinet, and don't burn the place down," Jim says, still grumbling.

"What's happening?" Kurt whispers into Blaine's ear.

"They're letting us stay here, without them. They're leaving in the morning," Blaine explains.

"Oh. Why?" Kurt asks.

"Uh... well, Ruth just wants a few nights off the rock, and since we're here, she thought—"

"Right. Of course," Kurt interrupts.

All through dinner, all he can think about is Blaine... being alone with Blaine... on an island. He answers questions and nods politely, but his mind is fixated on all of the things they could get up to, alone. He thinks he catches Ruth winking at Blaine as she pours the lemonade, but he's not sure.

Later that night, Kurt can't sleep. His muscles ache and his arms still shake when he tries to lift or hold anything heavier than a pillow, which means he can't very well read, not the way he usually does. And then there's Blaine, who has left him as rattled as he was at sixteen, doodling their names in his sketchbook, looking for clues in every look, every word, every touch. He'd been so sure he could move on from this debilitating hope, start fresh, see himself through the eyes of others. But Blaine is up to something, and whatever it is, is driving him crazy.

When his stomach growls he gives up, throws off the covers and tiptoes past Blaine's room. He wanders into the sprawling kitchen, now dark except for a soft light over the phone nook, and makes a beeline for the fridge. There's leftover whitefish salad, and half of Ruth's blueberry pie from yesterday. He takes out both dishes, grabs a pop, sets everything on the kitchen island, and then plops down on the nearest stool, doing his best to ignore his sore thighs.

Dipping his fork into the salad, he realizes it hadn't bothered him when, earlier on the sleeping porch, Blaine didn't correct Ruth. It wasn't that he denied they were boyfriends; it was that he used that awful phrase: "We're just friends." _Just._ How could friendship, especially a friendship as all consuming and _life-defining_ as theirs, be just anything? And anyway, hadn't he been acting like a boyfriend all freaking week? The shoulder bumping, and the quilt cuddling and the footsie playing? God. Blaine had to be the king, the absolute _king_ of mixed signals.

Kurt sighs, opens his drink and proceeds to spill half the can all over his silk pajama top. "Fuck! Of course," Kurt exclaims into the empty kitchen. 

He peels off his top and immediately runs water over the wet spots, and then drapes the top over a different stool. He'll throw it in the laundry on his way back to his room, if he doesn't get lost trying to find it.

Focused solely on the pie now, Kurt stands at the kitchen island, whispering curses in between bites. 

_Why did I agree to come here, anyway? What on earth made me think this would be anything less than pure, mind-fucking torture? I'd smack him, if I thought he knew what he was doing, if this week, if our entire thing, was even the slightest bit intentional._

"Are you seriously eating pie... in your... pajamas?"

It's a good thing Kurt is standing up, or he surely would have fallen off the stool at the sound of Blaine's voice. He looks up, mouthful of pie, and smiles a sheepish, blue-tinged smile. Blaine, wearing boxers and a Dalton T-shirt, is rumpled and sleepy and so, so gorgeous. 

Kurt swallows and says, "I was hungry. And I couldn't sleep."

It isn't until Blaine blushes that Kurt realizes he's shirtless, and Blaine is staring at his chest. It shouldn't be a big deal; they'd practically lived in their swimsuits all week. But there's something different about this, something so intimate and dangerous about standing in a kitchen wearing nothing but silk pajama bottoms... in the middle of the night... with the boy he loves.

Blaine locks eyes with Kurt, walks over to him—close, _too_ close—looks down at the remains of the pie and says, "Bite?"

Kurt sucks in a breath and steps back. He stares at Blaine for a moment, who is now staring at Kurt's lips. He's hot all over, down to his toes, and he's breathing so hard he can actually hear it. This could be it, the moment he's been dreaming of for years, the moment he's imagined hundreds of times, the moment that changes everything.

He waits.  
He searches Blaine's eyes.  
He waits.  
He licks his lips.  
He waits.

And then he sees himself, waiting, always waiting, and he feels sick. Kurt shakes his head to clear it, slides the pie a few inches closer to Blaine and says, "It's all yours."

He's on the move then, but doesn't turn back to look at Blaine when he reaches the door of the kitchen. He keeps going, trying to hang on to his conviction as he feels the pull of Blaine, this invisible thread trying to yank him back and pull him close.

An hour later he's still hungry, nowhere near sleep, and so horny he wants to cry. 

_Fucking Blaine and his fucking clueless, reckless ways. Doesn't he know he's messing with my heart?_

He thinks Blaine is asleep, having closed the door to his room at least half an hour ago. Kurt listens, his ear practically plastered to the wall, and wonders two things: Does that thing they do in movies with the empty glass actually work? And, how thick are these walls, anyway? He can be quiet. Or he can _try_ to be quiet. For sure he can be fast.

He kneels on the bed quickly pulls his pajama pants down to his thighs. There's no time for gentle-but-firm warm-up strokes over cotton; Kurt is all business. When he sits back against the headboard, the bed squeaks, and he stops, listens, listens some more, and then bangs his head against the wood. Blaine will hear him _for sure_ in this bed. Kurt groans in frustration, considers the cold, hardwood floors, the equally noisy rocking chair, the embroidered bench, and decides against all of them.

It shouldn't be a big deal, he thinks, his fingers stroking, twisting, holding, pressing. He caught Blaine jerking off in the Dalton showers one night after they went to the midnight showing of _The Rocky Horror Picture Show,_ so who cares if Blaine hears him? _Rocky in his gold shorts, my ass._ He knew Blaine was thinking about him in his tight jeans; he'd been staring at his thighs all night, thinking Kurt had no idea.

Kurt stifles a moan as his hands speeds up, remembering Blaine's fast jerks, the grunts, the tiny whimpers as he rounded the corner to the showers. He was drawn to Blaine that night, pulled by the same thread that wrapped around his ankles earlier and almost, _almost_ got him to run back to the kitchen and crush Blaine's cluelessness with a soul-quaking kiss. 

That night at Dalton he knew he should walk away, but his body moved forward anyway, feet sliding across the slippery tile, quiet as a mouse. The sight of Blaine's hand on his dick, eyes rolled back, chest heaving, will forever be burned on Kurt's brain, and he uses it now as he rushes to finish. There are locks on the doors; he can't get caught.

He tries to keep quiet, but then he thinks, maybe he _should_ hear him. Maybe he should be extra loud, let Blaine hear him moan as his orgasm builds, make Blaine hear him scream when he comes. Maybe then Blaine would put them both out of their misery, shuffle over to Kurt's room in just his boxers, his chest still dark and warm from the sun, push open the door and—

He's spills into his hand, constricting his throat to hold back all sounds of joy, release, happiness. He locks it up, swallows it, pushes it down to the base of his spine and leaves it there.

It's not the first time. And it won't be the last.

 

The following morning Kurt wakes up to the sound of Blaine singing "[Ice Cream](http://youtu.be/1yYAOUc7YBE)" by New Young Pony Club, in the shower. He groans, puts a pillow over his head to drown out the sound, and tries to ignore the fact that he's _still_ hard. Or, hard again. _Whatever._

He needs to go home, get back to his girls, and his clothes, and his plans for the future. He thinks about how he might convince Blaine to leave early, or catch a ride with Ruth and Jim if Blaine doesn't want to leave. Would his Dad pick him up in Minneapolis? Could he take a bus?

He makes the pancakes instead.

Blaine practically has an orgasm over them at the table, and Kurt has to make extra when Jim inhales eight pancakes in one sitting. Ruth asks for the recipe and Kurt beams as he writes it out on one of her yellow, lined recipe cards.

Before they leave, Jim and Ruth hug and kiss Blaine like he's going off to war. Jim slaps Kurt on the back and Ruth hugs him too tightly, for too long. She says, "When you come back here, I'll be old, but I'll still feed you."

They're off down the path to the boathouse before Kurt can ask her what she meant by that.

All day Blaine seems nervous about something, so Kurt keeps his distance. He takes an extra long nap, finds a new book in the library, folds his laundry. They play cards after lunch, and then Blaine takes him out to his favorite rock, perched at the edge of the lake bank. They talk about the Warblers, their failed relationships and the nice girls. They talk about the New Directions, where everyone plans to go in the fall and how they'll all find time to get together. It's not stilted, but throughout the entire conversation Kurt feels like they're talking around something else, avoiding whatever it is this week has really been about.

Blaine heats up the meal Ruth left for them, something she calls "boiled dinner": meat, potatoes, carrots and onions all in one pot. Boiled. When Blaine breaks out the rum, Kurt grabs for it like it holds the keys to the universe, and soon the tension—and the dinner—goes down easy as pie.

It's dark when they walk out to the dock, drinks in hand. Kurt wants to reach for Blaine's hand, and ordinarily he would. But now he's so unsure about what all of this means, and what reaching for Blaine's hand _could_ mean, so he keeps his hands in his lap and stares out at the water.

"We should swim," Blaine says suddenly.

He takes off his shirt and then stands up. His hands are at the buttons of his shorts when Kurt says, "Wait, what? Are you going in naked?"

"Why not? Skinny dipping is a rite of passage, Kurt. You can't come to the lake and not go skinny dipping."

"Well, I could. It's not, like, _the law."_

"Come on. It will be awesome," Blaine urges, very close to begging. He slips off his shorts, and Kurt could swear he sees Blaine gulp when he pulls down his boxers. And there he is, Blaine Fucking Gorgeous Anderson. Naked, naked, naked. Blaine smiles at Kurt and then dives off the front of the dock, shouting as he comes up.

"Is it cold?" Kurt asks, not really caring.

"Just a bit. You'll get used to it. Come on!"

Kurt feels ridiculous sitting on the dock watching Blaine swim. He doesn't want to be _that_ person, the one who never wants to do anything dangerous, or interesting, or... naked. So without a second thought he strips out of his clothes and dives in after Blaine. 

The water is really cold, actually, and he has to fight the urge to get out immediately. It's only when he turns around to see Blaine treading water just a couple of feet away that he realizes, in light of every little weirdness and infuriatingly hot moment they've had on this trip so far, swimming naked, at night, miles from adult supervision is not a good idea.

Either that, or it's the best idea of all. Ever.

They don't really swim. They talk, mostly, treading water around each other, splashing occasionally. And they laugh. Blaine's smile is contagious and beautiful, and soon Kurt doesn't feel cold at all.

"Holy shit. Kurt. Look!"

Kurt turns in the direction Blaine is pointing and gasps. Bright green and pink light licks across the sky, moving, vibrating, like music. "It's just starting," Blaine says. "I can't believe we're skinny dipping under the Northern Lights."

"Ruth was right," Kurt says.

"She usually is."

They stare at the sky for what seems like hours, mesmerized by the light as it expands, contorts, as new colors—lavender, purple, gold—skate across the green. Kurt has never seen anything so beautiful in person. Legs tired, he swims to the dock so he can hold on to the edge and stare longer. Blaine follows and for a few moments they are quiet, the odd "look at that!" and "over there!" breaking the silence.

When Kurt turns to tell Blaine how special he feels, how happy he is, Blaine is already looking at him. The light from the sky reflects in Blaine's eyes, and Kurt tries to stay steady as Blaine moves in closer.

"This feels like a beginning," Blaine says.

"Or an ending," Kurt replies.

"Maybe... both?"

"That's, I mean... that's what growing up is, right?" Kurt offers.

"I don't feel ready yet," Blaine admits.

"Ready for what?"

"College. Everything."

"Of course you're ready. You don't have to know everything, Blaine. Nobody expects a freshman to have his shit together."

"I'll miss you in the fall. I... I'm glad we did this."

"Me too," Kurt replies.

"Do you ever... there's so much unfinished—" Blaine starts. He's floundering, and Kurt wants to reach over and calm him with his touch, kiss his shoulder and wrap him up until he settles down enough to tell him what he wants to hear. _Finally._

He sees the desire in Blaine's eyes and he wants to drown in it, roll around in it, let it fill him up and make things right. He's sure now—Blaine wants him. He wants to touch him in all the best places, break him apart and put him back together again. He wants _Kurt._ Blaine will kiss him, and profess his undying love, and they'll have the best summer of their lives letting their bodies make good on silent promises until—

"We could, you know, be each other's first," Blaine blurts out.

"What?"

"Together.... um... I want—"

"Like _sex?_ You're talking about sex?"

"Well, yes, but not—"

Suddenly it's all crystal fucking clear. All of this teasing, and touching, and flirting, and breathing heavy, and messing with Kurt's head—it's all because Blaine wants to lose his fucking virginity before college. Hell, it's probably the reason he invited Kurt to Wisconsin in the first place.

Blaine wants him, but he doesn't _want_ him. Not really. Not for love. Not for _real._

Kurt doesn't try to hide the hurt on his face, doesn't stop to give Blaine an answer, doesn't say anything to calm Blaine's nerves. He simply places both hands on the dock, pulls himself out of the water, picks up his clothes and walks away.

He can feel that thread dragging behind him. That thread, that tiny thread that sometimes playfully wrapped around his finger as a reminder of his love for Blaine, that thread that stretched across the hallway, in between their dorm rooms; that thread that looped around Kurt's waist and pulled him close to Blaine in private moments. _That_ thread is pulled tight now as he walks up the path, naked. It's taut when he reaches the end of the path, but Kurt keeps going. He fights the urge to run back to the dock and take whatever Blaine will give him. Somewhere between the front lawn and the front door, Kurt feels the thread snap. He expects to feel relieved, free, somehow lighter.

The only word for how he feels is bereft.

He climbs into bed, naked, still wet, and cries himself to sleep. He'll have to save this friendship somehow. He'll have to say the right thing tomorrow, and try to believe it, and hope that they can get back to something good. But for now, all he can do is cry.

 

Kurt wakes up late, stays in his room too long, and when he finally shows up in the kitchen, Blaine is already gone. There's half a pot of coffee, still hot, and a note.

_I'm sorry about last night. Please let me explain. Meet me at the fire pit at 7 for s'mores. -B_

It's hours before Kurt realizes he's alone on the island. He notices one of the canoes missing, and later uses Jim's binoculars and spots Blaine up the shoreline.

They'll leave early in the morning, so he decides to get everything ready. He packs. He cleans the kitchen. He writes Ruth and Jim a note of thanks, walks over to their cabin and leaves it in the space between their screen door and their front door. He throws Blaine's wet laundry into the dryer. He returns the book he didn't finish to the library. He waits.

By 3:00 he's tired of the house so he walks out to Blaine's spot to sit on the rock and wait some more. The lake eases him into a quiet calm, and by the time his legs are stiff and need to be uncrossed, he feels better. He can't fault Blaine for trying; lord knows he himself is horny as hell and not above stupid schemes to just get on with it already. In his silent preparations for their departure, in his solitude, he has already forgiven Blaine. How could he not? His best friend, his touchstone, his heart.

He has forgiven him, but he won't go back. The roller coaster ride has come to an end, and he's getting off. He's cried himself to sleep over this boy for the last time.

It's after 7:00 by the time Kurt gets back to the house and makes his way down to the fire pit. Blaine is slumped in his chair, poking at the fire with a stick. He hears Kurt before he sees him and sits up taller.

"I thought you weren't coming," Blaine says, eyes focused on the fire.

"I'm pretty sure if I don't have s'mores by the fire on this trip, we're doing something wrong," Kurt says. His voice is soft. He's coaxing Blaine back, willing him to see that he's okay, that _they're_ still okay.

Kurt sits back in the other chair and tries to push the disappointment down from his heart, through his body, down to his toes and into the cool grass. He can almost hear Blaine's internal refrain, punishing himself. Kurt knows that Blaine won't let go of it until he's ready, but Kurt is patient; he can wait Blaine out.

They are quiet for so long, when Blaine finally does speak, Kurt is startled and shifts up in his chair. "Have I... have I ruined everything?" Blaine asks, afraid to look Kurt in the eyes.

"Hardly," Kurt says, trying to sound casual, when he really wants to cry. 

_Don't cry. Don't you dare cry._

"Are we still... us?"

"Of course. Nothing's changed," Kurt says, knowing it's a lie. It's unsettling, how good he's getting at keeping his true feelings from Blaine. The truth is everything has changed. Whatever unspoken thing there is between them, it's not enough. He knows that now. Blaine is sexually frustrated, and maybe just a little nervous about losing their friendship. But that's all there is.

_We may have chemistry, and want, but I'm not the love of Blaine's life. I have to learn how to be okay with that. I have to learn how to love someone else, even just a little bit, so I have a chance at happiness without him._

"I think we both need to find boyfriends," Kurt says, reaching down for the bag of marshmallows.

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"In Ohio?"

"Well, it's only two months until college. There'll be lots of boys to play with," Kurt teases.

"Right. Lots of boys."

Kurt roasts two marshmallows, one for him, and one for Blaine, and then hands Blaine the stick to fix his own s'more. When Blaine looks at him finally his eyes are wet, fearful, and a little sad. Kurt raises one eyebrow in question.

Blaine smiles and says, "Smoke."

They try to get back to some semblance of normality, of ease, but it doesn't come. Kurt is half asleep when Blaine tells him to go to bed, that he'll take care of the fire.

 

Kurt wakes up in the middle of the night afraid, as if he had a bad dream but can't remember what it was about. He wraps himself up in the extra quilt at the foot of his bed and knocks on Blaine's door. When he doesn't answer, Kurt opens the door to find the room empty, Blaine's bed unmade.

Kurt shuffles out to the living room. No Blaine. He looks in the kitchen, the rec room, the dining hall, the library. Still no Blaine. Just when he's about to expand his search outside, Kurt notices the door to the sleeping porch is ajar. When he pulls the door wide he is greeted with the sight of Blaine, curled up on the bed. His eyes are closed, but somehow Kurt knows he's not sleeping.

Blaine doesn't open his eyes, but he does reach out his hand and say, "Come lay down with me."

Kurt crawls into the bed, scooches up, and wiggles in close to Blaine, who wraps his arms around Kurt, the quilt between them.

"Look up," Blaine says, and when Kurt does so, he sees a sliver of the Northern Lights, putting on another show.

"Blaine—"

"I can't promise I won't ever do idiot things, Kurt. But I can promise that I will never hurt you on purpose. I can promise that I will make this up to you—"

"All is forgiven. Really. Can we just forget it ever happened?"

"Can you do that?" Blaine asks.

"Well, I want to stay friends with you, so I figure I have to forget it," Kurt says. He hopes Blaine understands how as much he wants to remain friends, as much as he needs him, he also wants to know what it's like to love someone who loves him back. And to do that, to stay friends _and_ move on, he needs to forget. At least for now.

"I'm not sure it will be so easy for me," Blaine says in a voice that makes Kurt wish he could see his face.

"Well then remember it, and file it away for my wedding. You can embarrass me by telling the story in front of my handsome husband and all of our friends," Kurt says. He laughs, but it feels empty, and he knows he's trying too hard. He wonders if Blaine can tell.

Blaine sighs, squeezes Kurt through the quilt and says, "Stay with me here. Just for tonight?"

"Of course," Kurt says.

Through the windows of the porch, Kurt watches the lights dance across the sky. He wonders if Blaine has fallen asleep, or if he's watching, too. He takes a chance and says, "I'll never forget _this._ I'll never forget you."


End file.
